Lazy Saturday Morning
by Locked Up
Summary: Austria and Hungary have recently separated, and Austria is having a bit of a slow musical day. A visit from Hungary and some piano lessons may provide a bit of closure for their failed relationship. AusHun fluff...kind of. Oneshot.


_Hello :) I know I should be working on my other story right now, but this was a little one-shot idea I got involving Austria and Hungary. I'm not used to writing these characters so excuse any OOC-ness. It's semi-historical and set between the World Wars. Some parts I stretched a little, however._

_This is just kind of sweet. It's also an actual het pairing (what? me?) so we'll see how it goes._

_Enjoy ^^_

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><p>It was one of those lazy Saturday morning, one of the ones that sank deep into your mind and let you settle down in bed for an extra hour; one of the ones that made you stop for just a moment and appreciate how beautiful the world could be. The bright morning sunlight trickled in through the large picture windows and onto the sleek black piano, illuminating the still and untouched air and casting the piano's shadow onto the marble floor.<p>

Austria wasn't playing this morning. Instead, he sat at the bench all alone, head cradled in a hand. His breaths were slow and shaky, but they held no tears. His fingers found no melody as they trailed along the ivory keys; he didn't have enough inspiration to cry. He didn't even know why he was sitting there.

One finger carefully depressed a key, a tiny sound almost unheard as it floated out of the body of the piano. Austria sighed, letting his hand fall. Most lazy Saturday mornings he saw as an empty page, just waiting for staves and notes to be cast upon them unto a melodic afternoon. Today, however, his mind held no musical magic and his hands carried no strength to play.

He didn't know why his thoughts were such a mess. Why he couldn't find a chord to play or a tune to plunk out with one hand. His mind sped along at a snail's pace, so full and yet so empty at the same time. He knew his chest felt heavy and his forefinger carefully touched another note, this time going down so slowly it made no sound. He imagined the padded hammer inside lightly touching the strings, dampening their noise before it even came out. That's how he felt today. His thoughts were being stopped before they could be formed, his head filling with so much potential but no sustenance.

He almost didn't hear the footsteps as they entered, soft and light. Austria knew those steps and he didn't look up. They stopped behind the bench, waited a moment, and then he felt the light hand on his shoulder. Hungary was here. He wondered why.

"Are you alright, sir?"

No, no, not sir. She shouldn't call him sir. It was too distant, too informal. He nodded lightly, straightening himself up. Then his eyes fell upon the piano once more and he could not think of a thing to play. He wanted to; oh, how he wanted to. It was his body, his inner thoughts that were half-formed and absent from his consciousness that stopped him.

"Are you going to play something?" Hungary tried. Austria looked up at her. Her long, light brown hair fell over her shoulders and down to the small of her back, waving elegantly as they draped around the bow holding on her apron. Sometimes he wished she'd take that off and stop pretending she enjoyed acting like a housekeeper.

"I will," Austria said, his voice as snappy and authoritative as ever. It was harder today, though. That lazy Saturday morning had drained him of power and of energy. He watched Hungary for a moment, from her sharp green eyes to the tiny smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

They didn't say anything for a long time, and his eyes darted back to the keys. He then set up his hands as if about to play but stopped. He let them drop into an easy chord, a minor one that could easily spring off into a waltz or even a nocturne. He couldn't make his fingers move.

Hungary's hand slipped from Austria's shoulder and immediately he wished it were there again. She didn't leave, though, as he had been fearing. Instead she motioned for him to move over a little on the piano bench. He obliged, swallowing thickly as she sat down next to him. Their legs touched, and he watched in silence as her small hand came up to press down a single key. The one note rang through the room, the loudest thing Austria had heard all morning.

"I remember you taught me but I can't remember how to play," she said, fingers dancing daintily over the keys. She didn't meet his eyes, instead opting to play a little string of notes.

Austria knew that the years since their divorce had been harder on him than her. Their contact had been brought to an immediate minimum, though he really shouldn't have been surprised when it came about. The signs had been showing up since their wedding day, proclaiming their incompatibility to all the world except for him.

"I could teach you again," he offered. She smiled a little and he felt his heart warm, if just a bit.

"I was never good."

"Nothing a little practice couldn't help," he said affirmatively. She stopped for a moment before she sighed and shook her head.

"Never mind."

There he went again. That was one of the things she'd said she hated about him. He was all business. Austria glanced down, trying to find something to say that would fix that. He didn't want her to leave yet.

"I don't expect Mozart," he said quietly. She blinked, looking up at him. "I like to hear you play."

It was a stretch for him. He didn't usually speak like that, giving out a compliment so offhandedly. And it wasn't nonchalant, not really. It was true.

"I don't remember much," Hungary said again, biting her lip. She started what sounded like the beginning of a nursery rhyme and then stopped. "It doesn't matter, though. I came to ask you something about Romania."

"I saw what he's been doing," Austria said. Hungary nodded. "Yugoslavia, how about her?"

Hungary looked away. "I don't know what she's thinking anymore. She wants Slavonia and Vojvodina."

Austria didn't say anything, and Hungary's hands came back to the keys. "I wish I remembered how to play," she repeated.

There was an internal debate that lasted only for a second before Austria let one of his hands find its way up to hers, draped lightly over the keys. His fingers rested on top of hers. "I can teach you again."

"I don't have a piano at home," she said, but she didn't move her hand. "There's no point."

"You can come here to play," he said, trying to sound as distant and strict as usual. He wasn't sure if it came out that way. All he could concentrate on was how cold her hand was and how he needed to warm it up.

"I have to go soon..." Hungary trailed off. "I'm going out with Prussia."

It was expected, Austria knew. After their empire had broken up and they'd filed the last papers of their divorce he knew that Hungary had started seeing Prussia. He had become like her savior, the guiding light she so desperately needed in leaving a failed marriage. He sighed.

"Just one song."

Hungary looked like she was very conflicted. Austria moved his own fingers a little, pressing her fingers into the keys to play a little simple chord "One song."

"Anything in particular you'd like to learn?"

Hungary shrugged, eyes trained on their hands resting along the keys. "You choose."

Austria knew immediately what he wanted to do. "Okay. Relax." Then he started slowly, using Hungary's fingers to press the keys down one by one in a short melody. She watched him, seemingly transfixed.

"What is it?"

"I wrote it," Austria said simply, playing the same little song again.

"Of course," Hungary said, but though it was sarcastic it wasn't mean. "One more time."

Austria played through the melody once more before reluctantly bringing his hand away. Hungary tried the piece on her own, and though it was a bit hesitant she got it the second time. Austria didn't say a word until she was done, watching her as her fine hand became more sure of the notes.

His own hands moved to the keyboard, getting into position. "Play that again," he said, "On three."

He then counted up in German, knowing from experience that she would carry on the beat very well. His heart jumped into his throat at the last number, the _drei_ sounding more choked and distant.

Hungary started playing her melody as Austria's own fingers filled in the rest of the song. It was a slow backdrop, turning her single notes haunting and full. Hungary smiled widely while Austria sat there dumbstruck, letting his hands do all the work as he marveled at why he'd never decided to try this before.

In just a moment, though, it was over, and Hungary didn't play her part a second time. She rested her hand lightly on the keys, still smiling fondly. "That was nice," she finally said, and he knew it meant much more.

There was a long silence. Austria cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Well, I suppose you have to leave now..." he said shortly, trying not to concentrate on the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"What did you write that for?" Hungary asked, cutting him off.

"Ah...well...it was nothing in particular..." but she knew he was lying. She always knew when he was lying. He sighed, finally allowing the smile that had been threatening to break loose from the moment Hungary's fingers had touched the keys. He pushed up his glasses, closing his eyes briefly. "I wrote it for our wedding."

"You never played it."

"...well, we had that argument beforehand. I called it off."

Hungary sighed, spirits damped a little. "Oh."

There was another silence, and Austria's thoughts kept running with no destination. His hands gathered to his lap, not sure what to do now that they were no longer occupied by playing. Then, to his surprise, Hungary leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder. He looked down at her long hair, chest clenching.

"It's beautiful."

"It was inspired by you."

Hungary sighed again. This was very reminiscent of the early days, the good days of their married life. The days where things were sweet and romantic, the days when fights didn't carry over and there were no arguments. Austria had made no attempt to hide how much grief he'd felt following the separation.

Then Hungary sat back up, turning to him. She watched him, examined his face for a moment before taking his hand. Austria gladly accepted it, watching her as well. He knew what was going to come next. So did she.

Their lips met lightly, carefully. It was close-mouthed and chaste, not a kiss born of passion. Neither of them moved to change it, leaving it just a slight touch, like an embrace or a pair of teenagers holding hands. It was not a kiss between lovers. There was no rekindling of old feelings, just the aching in Austria's heart and the shaking of his breath. And yet it meant everything.

After an eternal moment they broke apart, staring into each other's eyes. Then Hungary looked down.

"I should go."

"Right."

They stood up at the same time, Hungary giving Austria a quick hug and a thank-you before turning to leave. He watched her as she walked across the cold marble floor, the sunlight playing off of her skirt and hair. Then she was gone, and Austria sat back down.

His fingers came to the keys again, hesitated for a moment, and then began to play. He continued into the afternoon, and when he stopped it was dark enough outside for him to see his reflection in the large windows. Then, without saying or doing anything else, he left the piano room and went to bed.

Another lazy Saturday.

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><p><em>Good? Bad? And if you can find any typos I'll play Austria's song for you :)<em>


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